There was a time in my life when I wouldn't be caught dead leaving the house without makeup or in a tee shirt and sweats. Even in college when most of my sorority sisters were rocking the "Hungover/walk of shame/boxer shorts and sweatshirt" look, I still maintained a sense of dignity in my high waisted jeans and bedazzled top with shoulder pads (this was the peak of fashion in the late 1980s).
Today I have metamorphisized into some kind of "sweatpants and tube sock" monster. Most days (when I'm not working) a bra is only optional and drawstrings are my new best friend. Make up is minimal and usually involves nothing more than a swipe of under eye concealer or a dab of lipgloss - but only if I'm really working the 'sexpot' look. Seriously, it is only a matter of time before I go grocery shopping wearing nothing but a Snuggie and frog slippers. While I admit that I have become rather slovenly over the past few years, I've still thought of myself as having some sense of decorum. But that all went out the window a few days ago.
I was dressed to the nines in an old pair of ripped, period-stained Juicy Couture drawstring sweats, a long sleeve shirt that said "Kingston Jamaica" (surprisingly it did not include a giant marijuana leaf on it) and flip flops. I was perusing the aisles of Blockbuster video and as I reached for a copy of "Inglorious Bastards" I could feel a gas bubble making its way through my stomach. Had it been 5 years ago, during my "dignified days," I would have sucked in my cheeks and shuffled out of there until the coast was clear. But ever since I became Roseanne Barr's Doppelganger, I have lost all concept of appropriate behavior and went for it. Besides, I honestly thought that it would be nothing more than a quiet, harmless little fart. What should have been a silent little "puff" came out sounding like a Thunderclap of the Gods. And even though there wasn't anyone in the immediate area, I might as well have gone up to the front counter, pulled down my pants and let it rip into the loudspeaker. I was horrified. You've never seen anyone move so fast from the "I" section to the "Z" section in your life. And as I stood there, red cheeked, reading the back of "Zoolander" like it was the most fascinating reading since Star magazine came out, it dawned on me that maybe from now on I should clean up my act. Then again, maybe I'll just stay clear of Blockbuster for a few weeks.